


Arrrr?

by psocoptera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, Early Work, Girls-on-boy gangbang, Harry/multiple unspecified female characters, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-31
Updated: 2003-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psocoptera/pseuds/psocoptera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arrrr, it be Talk Like A Pirate Day at Hogwarts, and the girls be going after booty!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrrr?

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding dubcon content: while consent is not obtained, I picture Harry having sufficient wandless/wordless casting that he could stop things if he wanted to. This is a very silly story and no Harrys are harmed therein.
> 
> This story is dedicated to George W. Bush, who in October 2003 "called on all the people of the United States to observe this week and commit to taking steps to confront the dangers of pornography", and to Franzeska for bringing this to my attention.

Harry stumbles down to the Hall for breakfast one morning - it's that part of start of term where all the first homework starts being due all at once - and is blearily confused to see that Hermione is wearing a sort of bright red kerchief tied over her hair.

"Mornin," Harry grunts, and she says, "Arrrr, g'day." 

Harry blinks and fumbles around for toast. Everything will make sense once he's had toast. 

Crunching away at a piece of toast, he is dimly aware of someone sitting down next to him, another kerchief, purple this time, over her red hair. 

"Ahoy, Harry," she says. "Pass me the jam, would you?" 

He turns his head slowly. "Ginny?" 

"Smartly, me lad, she's not going to drag anchor here all day!" 

Harry turns back towards the speaker. "Hermione?" 

"Not making full sail yet, are ye Harry?" Ginny says, causing his head to swing back towards her again. 

"What..." he manages. "What are you talking about?" 

"Harry, you lubber," comes a voice behind him. It's Katie Bell, in bright blue kerchief. "It be Talk Like a Pirate Day, bucko! Cram down yer grub and wake up already." 

*** 

McGonagall narrows her eyes over the bandannas, but pretends not to notice the occasional "aye" snuck in when she calls on the girls. It had seemed to be just the girls, once Harry had woken up enough to look around the Hall - the girls and, oddly, Neville, sporting a hoop earring and rolling his Rs. Ron had just shrugged when Harry caught his eye, obviously consigning it to the great darkness of Inexplicable Things Girls Did. 

Harry concludes he might as well do the same and is walking down the corridor towards lunch when several things happen - a dark cloth is dropped over his eyes and his wrists are grabbed and pulled behind his back. He is pliant for a moment, surprised, then is about to panic and jerk away and go for his wand and yell Death Eaters, Death Eaters in the castle, when he hears giggling. Lots of giggling. "Petrificus totalus," says a sweet, feminine voice, and he goes stiff and falls back into several sets of hands. 

"Well, shiver me timbers," someone says, "Hello, me beauty." 

"Don't you mean booty?" someone else giggles, and he feels a sharp pinch to his arse. He jumps, except he can't, so it's just a mental jump. 

"He is that," someone replies - the first person? someone else? the thick accents make everyone sound strange - "Quite a haul. Arrrr." 

"Shall we haul him off to our lair, then?" and he tries to make an inquisitive whine, but, of course, fails. 

"Den, I think," comes an answer, as he as is grabbed by the armpits and begins to be dragged backwards, "I think pirates have dens. Arrrr." 

"Can't we just mobilicorpus?" someone asks. "Um, arrrr?" 

"We wants to be keepin' the magic to a minimum, matey," she is answered, "Now, come on, me hearties, and heave to!" 

He is picked up by the ankles and carried down the corridor in a swarm of giggles, wondering silently exactly *what* is going on. 

*** 

"Gangway!" one of his captors cries, when a door has been swung open, and he is maneuvered through the doorway and propped against a wall. There seem to be even more people giggling now. 

"Avast!" someone says, and "Begad!" 

"You've caught a prime chase in that one," someone says, "Makes ours look like shark bait." 

"Nay," a girl near him answers, "You'd a pretty catch as well." 

"But this one's a prize," someone purrs even nearer, and a hand strokes down his chest and stomach, ending just shy of his waistband. "Arrrr." 

Harry's heart, one of the few parts of his body still able to move, speeds up a few notches. While he still has no idea what on earth is going on, it's starting to look... interesting. 

It looks even more interesting when another three or four hands follow the same path. 

"Now now," someone chides, "If ye'd keep things shipshape, ye've got to start at the prow and work yer way aft," and someone braces their hands on either side of his head and kisses him. 

It's very strange, not being able to move his lips - his mouth is slightly parted and she takes advantage, slipping in with her tongue and sliding it against his. 

"Oooh," he hears, "I want a turn," and he's handed off to another set of lips and another probing tongue. 

"Me lassies," someone says, "I think it's time to lower the sails," and he feels fingers working at the fastenings of his Hogwarts robes. 

"Aye aye!" someone else says eagerly, and the opened robe is tugged as far down his arms as it will go with his wrists still fixed behind his back where they had been grabbed. 

It's still quite warm, being only September, and all he has on is a thin, loose vest, once Dudley's, and trousers. 

"I wouldn't swab the decks with that vest," someone comments, and the girl in front of him says "To Davy Jones it goes!" and it falls away from him with the sound of scissor snips. 

Hey, he wants to protest, you can't just go cutting up my clothes, but then he doesn't, he doesn't want to because there are hands there are hands on his bare skin all over, stroking his stomach and tweaking his nipples, and his cock, unable to shift in his pants, is nonetheless swelling with blood it's engorging in place and he has a momentary fear it will just burst. 

"Finite incantatum localis" he hears, and feels the tip of a wand pressed against his trouser-front, and his cock pops up and there's a second rush of blood to his face as he realizes that his excitement has now become completely obvious to everyone in the room. Whoever they are. 

He pulls his hips back automatically, trying to hide, and realizes he can move a little, his hips, maybe even his legs. 

"Arrrr," someone whispers in his ear, "Ye'll keep yerself still, laddie, or ye'll have a taste of the cat for it." 

His confusion cools his excitement - they're going to make him lick Mrs. Norris? - and there's a groan of disappointment near the other ear. 

"Harry," that someone croons, "Aren't you having fun with us?" 

"No one's going to keelhaul ye," another voice picks up, 

"We just want to walk your plank!" calls out a third. Someone hoots, and there is a great deal of laughter. 

"Come on, Harry, old salt," the voice near his right ear, the girl who'd called him by name before, and a hand caresses his cheek. Fingers trace their way down his neck and swirl around his left nipple and "Aye, that's it" she breathes, and kisses him. 

There are more hands, in his hair, at his waist, and the kissing girl pulls away and now there's something wet at his nipple, licking, and someone's sucking on the other, and his cock is bobbing around merrily in his pants again. 

Abruptly all the hands and mouths pull away and he's cold for a moment, and then he's pulled away from the wall to stand in the middle of the room. Someone moves close behind him to help support him, rubbing herself sinuously against his back. And then there are hands fighting at his waistband, tugging the button of his fly back and forth until it pops open and his trousers are yanked down and his pants along with them and he's naked from neck to ankles except for the robe hanging off his arms in back. 

Which is promptly yanked aside and he can *feel* people looking at him, from every side. 

"That's quite a bowsprit," someone says archly from somewhere in front of him, and "quite a quarterdeck, too" someone answers from behind. "Arrrr." 

There is a chorus of "Arrrrr!" all around him. 

"I'll call for all hands on deck," someone says, and he's almost sure he knows who it is, and then forgets again as hands descend on him all over, stroking, pinching, patting, even tickling in places, making him twitch a little, the parts that can twitch, at least. 

"Harry," that same voice from before says lowly in one ear, "Do ye *want* to kiss the gunner's daughter? Ye aren't to go hoppin' about, now," and he tries to still his hips, but it's hard, it's very hard, because now there are hands squeezing and stroking his cock, and he wants to buck his hips forward into those hands, and never mind these strange threats about tasting and kissing, he's not sure who the gunner's daughter is but so many people are kissing him for all he knows he's kissed her already. 

"Arrrright," someone says over the giggling and hissed intake of breath, "Belay that, it's our turn." 

There is a chorus of plaintive noises. 

"Arright, ye can touch whatever ye can reach," they concede (or someone else does?), "But clear out from the fore, ye all knew the deal." 

"Aye aye, cap'n" girls mutter, or is it cap'ns? And the hands fall from his cock, which strains forward after them, and he can feel the press of bodies in front of him move aside. 

And then a mouth is on his cock. It might, in fact, be two mouths, he's having trouble telling one sensation from another, it's just all so intense. They tease, licking up and down, pulling away and returning, until he longs to grab a head and hold them fast except his hands are still frozen behind his back and finally, *finally* someone is sucking and he's surprised he doesn't come right there. Maybe the petrificus is somehow slowing things down, or maybe it's the audience of oohs and aahs all around him, but he's so close, and then fingers detach from the hands groping his arse and slide into the cleft of his buttocks and god, they're at him fore and aft and he thrusts forward helplessly. 

"It's the rope's end for that" someone says softly, and there's a sudden sharp smack against his left buttock and he comes, spurting into nothing as the mouth quickly detaches and a head rests itself against his hip. Two heads. Another on his right shoulder, pressing lips to his collarbone, as he sinks bonelessly into the petrificus with a motionless sigh. Someone kisses him gently, and then again, or it's someone else, and a hand smoothes soothingly over the mark on his arse. "Thank you, Harry," someone says, and three, maybe four, maybe more sets of arms cradle him in an enveloping hug. He can hear footsteps in the background working their way out of the room. 

"Thanks for being lookout," he hears from where he thinks the door should be, "And thank Tonks for me when - " 

Tonks?!? 

"SSshh!" someone else says quickly, "Pirates, remember? No names, or dead men tell no tales." 

"Aye aye," he hears, quietly, "Sorry 'bout that. Arrr." They sound contrite. "Still, uh, I'm glad someone told us about this idea." 

"Well," she's answered, "I don't think this is *exactly* how the Muggles do it." 

One of the people hugging him giggles. 

"Poor Muggles," she says, "All talk and no kidnappin'. Arrrr." 

"Arrrr," they all agree contentedly. 

"Arrrr," Harry thinks to himself. 

*** 

His clothes are pulled back on and he is dragged back out through various twists and turns and even carried up a short flight of stairs. He is placed facing a wall and the blindfold taken off - he can't see anyone in his peripheral vision - and then someone says "Finite incantatum" followed by running footsteps. He whirls around but they are already around a corner, and dashing after them reveals students of all years emptying out of the Great Hall for their afternoon classes. 

At dinner that night Harry peers intently at everyone in a bandanna, trying to imagine if they might have been part of the... scene... earlier, until Hermione raises an eyebrow under his scrutiny and asks if her makeup is smudged. He notices then a tiny skull and crossbones drawn on her cheekbone; he had taken it for an inkstain. 

When Harry staggers out to breakfast the next morning no one is wearing a kerchief, or saying "arrrr" with every other word. Hermione is quarreling with Ron - again - over house-elf rights, and Ginny is scribbling away at a Potions essay. 

"But the undervaluing of household labor is part of the same tendency to dismiss "women's work" as less important," Hermione is saying. And then, catching Harry's eye, "Or do you have a problem with female empowerrrrment?" 

Harry just blushes and reaches for the toast. 

::End::


End file.
